


titles and tatters

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baroness Jemma Simmons has been backed into a corner before, it's all part and parcel of working at the Steam Hazard Imperial Executive League of Dynamists. But she has this well in hand and certainly doesn't need any rescuing. </p><p>Steampunk ridiculouslness</p>
            </blockquote>





	titles and tatters

**Author's Note:**

> I quite like AUs, I quite like ridiculous AUs, and I have a strange fondness for steampunk, particularly the victorian flavor. I hope you all like them too.

“Come with us, quiet like now, Miss Simmons,” says the man in charge. Not in charge of the whole operation, certainly, as Jemma is sure he doesn’t have the wherewithal to have put together the automonicon that Fitz is currently trying to figure out how to shut down while she distracts these men, but in charge of the rather unsavory men on either side of him.

“I prefer Baroness Simmons, actually.”

“What?” The men all stop, the middle one’s mustache is practically vibrating with tension and she wonders if her rank is actually enough to protect her against these men – certainly they’ll be in significantly more trouble for her capture and death than that of a mere gentle lady – she wishes the world were more egalitarian than that, but as it is not there is not much she can currently do, backed into a figurative corner – but she rather doubts it.

So instead she decides to simply take as long as she possibly can distracting them – if Fitz can reprogram the blasted automonicon that had brought them here in the first place than they may just stand a chance, and he needs as long as possible to do that.

“My father,” she says, chin up and enunciating clearly as they taught her in her very unusual finishing school, “is a Duke. My parents, bless them, have only me. Luckily my ancestors were forward thinking in addition to being quite clever, and there exists no stipulation as to the gender of the heir. As such, my father declared me heir when I reached my majority.” 

“But,” interrupts one of the men and Jemma tilts her head and looks at him intently as he shuffle steps, rubbing his hands together, and finally says, “wouldn’t that make you a duchess, m’lady – I mean, Baroness?”

“Very good question,” she says, beaming at him and he ducks his head, blushing red as a tomato. “I am not the duchess because that honor goes to my lady mother – and will until her death, may it be far in the future – instead, upon declaring me heir, my father granted me one of our other, assorted, titles and so I became Baroness Simmons. The correct term of address for a baroness can be ‘My Lady’, ‘Your Ladyship’, ‘Baroness’ or, I will admit, simply ‘Lady’, but I much prefer Baroness.”

The man bobs his head, still blushing, until the man in the center, the one at least in charge in this moment, takes a swipe at the back of it. “Miles!” he barks. “We don’t _care_ what to call her – we just gotta capture her for the boss.”

“Yes, sir,” says Mr. Miles, but he shoots her an apologetic look and she smiles back at him gently, she does understand, after all – and besides, Fitz has stopped muttering to himself from behind the crate that he’s been crouching behind so either he’s figured out how to save them or he’s given up, and either way, there’s no point in her trying to distract them for longer.

Though if she can keep them from discovering Fitz at all she’ll still take that chance.

Jemma fiddles with the button on one of her gloves, stepping forward. “Who is your boss, in any case? I’m afraid this is a quite improper way for me to be introduced, but needs must I suppose.”

“Oh,” says another voice that has her stiffening and the gentle smile on her face melting off, “and I suppose you never do anything _improper_ , Lady Jemma.” 

“It’s Baroness!” chimes in Mr. Miles and Jemma smiles at him, laying the fingers of her left hand lightly on his arm for a brief moment.

“Thank you, Mr. Miles, but it’s best if we just ignore him. Now, you were kidnapping me, yes?”

Mr. Ward scoffs. “I’m here to rescue you, Jemma.”

Jemma turns her frosty gaze on him, as the henchmen shift uncomfortably between them feeling the tension in the air – or perhaps just ill at ease with how Mr. Ward is pointing quite menacing weapons in their direction while they are all unarmed.

“Please refer to me as Baroness Simmons – or Your Ladyship if you insist on being so _American_ about it. We do not have the level of familiarity that would give you the right to use my given name, sir.” She sniffs and tilts her nose up, looking at him down the end of its admittedly dainty length. “And I would rather go with these gentleman than be rescued by you, thank you all the same, _sir_.”

“ _Gentleman?”_ Mr. Ward scoffs, gesturing jerkily with one of the elaborate weapons in his hand – it is, Jemma believes, likely to contain an electric net. She supposes she could thank him for not using it on her as it would be quite degrading to be trapped on the floor and would ruin her dress besides, but she’s not inclined to be grateful to Mr. Ward for anything, not since he displayed his true loyalties and betrayed them all. “They’re hardly gentleman, _My_ Lady, and I doubt you’ll receive much delicate treatment from their boss.”

“Nonetheless,” says Jemma, gathering the folds of her dress in hand so as to be able to walk with more speed, “I’d rather take my own chances.”

“Aw, thanks Baroness Simmons,” says Mr. Miles.

The man in charge makes a strangled noise in his throat as Jemma smiles at Mr. Miles again.

Now both of Mr. Ward’s weapons are pointed at Mr. Miles and Jemma’s brow furrows in thought – it’s a habit she’s always trying and failing to break. It’s not like him to lose focus of the bigger picture and – “Wait a minute!” she exclaims, stepping between Mr. Miles and Mr. Ward and frowning fiercely. “Are you _jealous?_ ” 

“No,” Mr. Ward denies quickly, but even the men around her can see he’s lying – quite a surprise since he’d managed to lie to Jemma and the others for well over a year before they’d caught him out.

The situation has gotten quite out of hand. Luckily, before Jemma can say anything else – she’s not even entirely sure what she would say but it seems unlikely the situation could improve by her added commentary – the automonicon that Fitz was working on taking over crashes through the wall.

Jemma has some quite unladylike thoughts as she watches the huge hulking mechanical monstrosity reach out towards them. It seems unlikely it’s still being controlled by it’s original inventor, but she assumes Fitz has the whole thing under control – until she realizes she can hear him swearing viciously from behind the crate.

“Well then,” she says, straightening her gloves and tapping the heel of her shoe against the ground to make sure it is firmly in place. “Gentleman, I would suggest we run. You’ll excuse me if I don’t go with any of you.” Only Mr. Ward seems to hear her, and he shoots her a look she doesn’t care to decipher before she’s hiked her skirts up and taken off. She grabs Fitz along the way, trailing broken circuitry behind him.

“Goddamn – Jemma!” Mr. Ward says.

She doesn’t respond at all – too out of breath to answer and using both of her hands so unable to even let him know what she thinks of him, in the charming way that Miss Daisy taught her so recently – as she exits.

There’s another crash behind them and Fitz swears again. 

“What on earth did you do to that poor thing?” she asks, once they’ve found a seemingly secure section of the building to hide in.

“He built in a bloody fail-safe. I outwitted it, of course, but the electricity wasn’t up to the task I’d asked of it – he’s using shoddy foreign material – and, well,” Fitz mimes an explosion with his hands and she sighs.

The both wait another moment, catching their breath against the wall and tilting their heads to catch the sounds of indiscriminate destruction.

“Was that Ward?” Fitz asks, after another moment.

Jemma pulls her watch from the small pocket it resides in and makes a point of checking it instead of answering his question. “Blast it all,” she says, not at all feigned now that she’s seen how much time she’s actually wasted, “mother will be quite distraught if I miss the ball tonight – I must away.” She takes a moment to dig into one of the hidden pockets in her skirt, producing a small roll of vellum.

The crashing seems to have grown more distant, so she pats Fitz on the shoulder and heads out, taking only a moment before emerging onto the street to make sure she still looks presentable. (Her shoes, it must be noted, are covered in oil and quite a sight, but the fashion still allows for long skirts and she makes sure to walk carefully to keep them covered, even as she crosses the distance to her residence at speed.)

Fitz, she feels confident, will get the documents to Lord Coulson at the Steam Hazard Imperial Executive League of Dynamists headquarters without issue – even if the automonicon doesn’t do them the service of removing Mr. Ward, he hasn’t, as of yet, shown much interest in delaying _Fitz_.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my writing tumblr [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/). <3
> 
> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> This is definitely a universe I have a lot of thoughts on.


End file.
